Brazen
by Tokoyonokuni
Summary: Mai Kujaku is a classic showstopper, but I find myself falling for her geeky younger brother instead. Yugi Mutou—geek, short, male. Notice that I'm insulting him on purpose. It's a way of dissuading myself from falling further. Not that it's working...
1. Chapter 1

Eyes can appreciate aesthetics.

A particular girl in my school is exceptionally eye-catching—blonde hair, fair skin, heart-shaped face, luring eyes, luscious lips, and voluptuous figure.

Mai Kujaku is a classic showstopper, but I find myself falling for her geeky younger brother instead.

Yugi Mutou—geek, short, _male._

Notice that I'm insulting him on purpose. It's a way of dissuading myself from falling further. Not that it's working... My eyes are trying to see through that ugly sweater of his. Damn this unfounded infatuation!

_How did I fall for this guy?_

Not to flaunt my ego or anything, but I'm quite popular. I've got girls nipping at my heels—yet I'm chasing after this midget.

Yes, I _might_ be gay. (I'm still halfway through my denial, so let's just go for bisexual.)

_No,_ I'm not narcissistic. The only thing physically similar between us is our hairdo.

I'm taller than him.

"What is it?"

"Huh?"

"You were staring at me."

"No, I wasn't." _I was trying to see through your clothes and was thinking about you, and _you _just happened to be there._

"Oh... Uh, okay," he says, scratching his cheek with his finger and sporting a blush—and, no, I don't think it's cute!

He may look harmless, but don't let looks deceive you.

He doesn't completely conform to the typical geek's mold. For one, he's a fighter.

He transferred at the middle of the school year. He was four inches short of five feet and an instant teacher's pet—in other words, fresh meat for bullies. In fact, the predators' eyes zoned in on him on his first day of school. My locker was coincidentally next to his, so I had a front row seat to the whole incident.

The crowd parted like the red sea as Ushio, public enemy no.1 and self-proclaimed hall monitor, passed through, looming over the populace (and even more so on petite Yugi) with his mammoth height. With his lackeys in tow, it was no doubt the welcome wagon. They were on their daily patrol, making a special detour to greet the new _customer_ and collect the down payment for their future services. (They were bodyguards for forced hiring, paid to protect you from themselves.) But they couldn't even get a yen out of Yugi.

As it turned out, Yugi was stingy with his money. Angry words couldn't persuade him.

Ushio threatened him with a fist, but Yugi didn't take it lying down—instead with a flying kick to the crotch. It was impressive if not mildly frightening how he got the boulder of a man, Ushio, on his knees and squeaking like a rodent. I wasn't sure if that had been a wise move on Yugi's part—Ushio was a vindictive troll and was bound to take revenge sooner than later—but I knew that I'd hate to be at the receiving end of either of their wraths.

Yugi lost the teachers' favors the same day he received them but regained some just as quickly; he was splendid in Math and fluent in English. Ms. Chono, the-school-vixen-also-Japanese-teacher, however, disliked him—Yugi was atrocious with kanji and sibling to Domino High's hottest chick a.k.a. _competition._

Ushio didn't show his ugly mug for four days straight. It was a celebrated holiday for his victims (quarter of the student body). Yugi's kick had been too hard a blow to both his balls and ego, and it took Ushio three days to recuperate and one more to plot his revenge.

Yugi became a legend, but nevertheless remained unnoticed. It was akin to David and Goliath, except nobody could pinpoint who David was. Yugi was spontaneous with disappearing acts: He didn't eat at the cafeteria and was rarely seen in the hallways yet never late for class. Also, the incident with Ushio had been brief, and nobody had a good look at Yugi. All they knew was that the student was short and had a distinguishable hairstyle; some even thought it was me (and I was kind of offended by that because I wasn't _that_ short).

When Ushio returned, he reported to the principal. Yugi pleaded self-defense and was let go without consequence. The principal didn't believe that such a frail looking teen could beat a giant like Ushio. Plus Yugi played the innocent quite well: He could cry on cue. I knew because I was brought in as a witness.

Ushio cornered Yugi later that day.

Yugi's foot did an encore on Ushio's balls.

I had a feeling that he could usurp Ushio's throne if he wanted to.

Despite the ass-kicking he's done, he is still a geek.

Living up to his name, he's an avid gamer and plays a wide variety of games. His favorite is a card game called Duel Monsters. He can spiel off about that topic for hours if he wanted to. He even brings his deck to school—that ever-present bulge in his right pocket—and it's the game's logo and characters that are often printed on his graphic tees.

His clothes are not flattering _at all._ His shirts are a size bigger than it should be, the sleeves almost past his elbows and much wider than his arms, and his pants are meant for someone taller, the ends rumpling on his shoes and reaching a bit to the floor. I wonder if he has this illusion of being tall or having the right build to fit those clothes of his.

Those thick-framed glasses don't accentuate his features either. Black rim glasses are in style, but I'm sure he could make do without them. The thick lenses obscure those pretty eyes of his. Such a pity.

He has amethyst irises, more attractive than Kujaku's plain violets. (The eyes and the pallid skin are the only similar traits between the siblings.)

On his way to his seat, his glasses got knocked off by an accidental bump from our classmate. They skidded next to my shoe, I picked it up for him, and our eyes met for two seconds before he took the glasses back. It was merely a glimpse, but I was enraptured.

It wasn't love at first sight. The first time I saw him had been by the lockers—when he kicked Ushio's crotch before fleeing the next second—and my heart hadn't been beating loudly then. Not even during that time in the classroom with him sans the glasses. But those eyes did linger in the back of my mind. Still, it wasn't a crush.

I was just appreciating aesthetics.

I decided to stole—_hide_ his glasses one time.

I had never seen him so clumsy.

He bumped into tables.

He ran into doors.

He hit a wall when he turned a corner.

He tripped on the stairs.

I broke his fall.

We ended up in a provocative position—chest to chest, me on the bottom, my arm around his waist, his hands clutching my shoulders, my legs apart, and him almost kneeing me on the groin. Our faces were inches from meeting. My cheeks were seconds from flaring while his were already putting tomatoes to shame.

His eyes were wide and clear aubergines, a captivating view.

The world stilled for a second.

I thought I should annihilate those glasses for good.

"_Y-Yami!?"_

"_Ah... yeah."_

"_S-sorry," _he stuttered, frantically untangling himself from me. _"Can't see without my glasses."_

They were prescription glasses. Oops.

I returned them later in English class. He accepted my apology with ease.

"_So, you're nearsighted?"_

"_That's an understatement. Didn't you notice how thick my lenses were when you stole them?"_

"_Really sorry about that."_

"_It's okay. At least, you returned them. Unlike other people..."_

"_Ever heard of contact lenses?"_

"_I have a firm belief that my eyeballs should not make contact with my fingers, or else they'll get intimate with my nails, and I'll be blinder than I already am." _That was the most words I'd ever heard him say.

Yugi turns talkative when in English.

The teacher has keen ears for vernaculars and a sharp ruler for those who speak it during class; rule no.1 is 'speak English or don't speak at all,' and the students follow it meticulously. It's to Yugi's advantage since he's a transferee from the States. His awkward Japanese is often misconstrued as timidness. Given that the language spoken is English, he can actually hold a coversation.

Since then, I've been speaking the language when I'm with him. And I'm with him often at school.

I just have this urge to hover around him.

"Ushio still bothering you?"

"Yeah. He's still sour about his balls."

"You did kick them pretty hard. And twice."

"It's not my fault that they're so sensitive. He shouldn't have forced his condoms on me."

"...Condoms?"

"He said I should pay for 'protection,' No way am I gonna waste my money on something I can't even use."

"You just implied that you're a virgin."

"You're not?"

Cough. Awkward. "Not telling."

"Anyways, is Ushio a masochist or something? I've made it _painfully_ clear that I'm not buying what he's selling, yet he still keeps coming back. Is he dumb? Maybe a kick to the head would fix that. I should do that next time."

"There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity, Yugi."

"Then, I must be valiant."

He doesn't kick Ushio in the head the next day. He says his leg couldn't reach. I counter, "You're just too short," and earn a punch on the shoulder. It almost hurt.

"Pot calling the kettle black," he mutters before entering the classroom. I follow after.

We sit on our respective seats as the bell rings.

The teacher starts his discussion, writing on the board and speaking consecutively. His words come out as a drawl, going inside one ear and out the other. I'm more conscious of the jotting pens, specially the one on the adjacent desk, where Yugi sits. I'm trying to see through that ugly sweater again. He notices because I'm not being discreet, and he's a bit paranoid.

He turns red when I stare too long. His face is starting to match his hooded sweater. He wears a red one often because the color camouflages with the lockers littering the hallways—it's a tactic for evading bullies. He has dealt with a lot of them back in the States, and years of practice made him skilled at hiding. If possible, he'd rather avoid confrontations, but he wouldn't hesitate to fight if needed.

There's a bruise on his wrist.

I wonder if he got it from Ushio.

As for how I know so much details about Yugi...

No, I'm not a stalker.

I'm cousins with Seto Kaiba—he's an omniscient being—and we gossip... ?

Our mothers said make nice; random talks about random topics were the most we indifferent sons bothered with.

Seto's too smart for high school. He's a conglomorateur's son, already helping out in the business as a director. He's only here because of Aunt's orders (she wants him to make friends). Also, he's the reigning champion of Duel Monsters, and he's acquaintances—he abhors the word 'friends'—with Yugi.

I just made use of the serendipity.

Wolf whistles signal Kujaku and her clique's arrival.

Kujaku walks like she's on a runway, chin up, posture straight, heels clicking. Her blonde locks flow languidly behind her, trailed by her many admirers' eyes. She passes by without glancing our way. (Her friends wave to me, though.) Yugi doesn't make a show of knowing her either.

"Isn't Kujaku your sister? I've never seen you interact before," I say when she's out of earshot.

"How did you know that?" His brows furrow in suspicion.

"Seto."

"That blabbermouth. Should've known. It's always the quiet one that spills your secrets."

"It's a secret? I'm sure that the faculty knows, though. Haven't you notice Ms. Chono's glares."

"No, it's not a secret. I'm just trying to be discreet. Mai doesn't want people to know we're related. She doesn't really like me, so she keeps her distance."

"Why so?"

"She's too proud to hang-out with her bastard brother."

"Oh."

"It's okay. I don't like that stuck-up legit daughter either."

The sigh that follows entails that there's more to it than that, but it's too personal for me to ask.

There's always the omniscient Seto to pester if I ever want to know.


	2. Chapter 2

Flying thirty-thousand feet off the ground...

What an awesome way to discover that you have a massive case of motion sickness and a developing acrophobia.

Suddenly, I didn't want to be tall anymore (though I would retract that statement the second I was back on motionless land). Even inside the car, I still felt like vomiting. I had been holding it in through sheer will.

I turned to the window, watching the sceneries fade too fast—which only reminded me that I got a maniac driver behind the wheel—and it didn't help ease my nausea at all. The buildings and trees turned to quick blurs as we passed them.

I envied the still trees, rooted to their spots, no annoying mother sending them off from one continent to another, transferring them (without them knowing initially) in the middle of the school year to a different school in a country whose language they could barely read, much less write, and when spoken by them was only a smidge past conversational. And said mother didn't even come with them, choosing instead to shack up with Boyfriend No.20 in the home which they had lived in their whole life and was impulsively uprooted from to move in with a relative that they didn't even know existed!

Though that spiel had only been in my mind, I found myself out of breath.

It fortunate that I hadn't spoken it aloud. What a word vomit that would have been.

The churning in my stomach meant that I shouldn't speak anyway.

If I did, bile instead of words would come out, and Joey would not like Mom's leftover casserole all over the car floor. She had always been a bad cook, and my stomach was grumbling its delayed complaints. If I spew Mom's cooking, it would be even more unappealing than it already had been going in. Though I was tempted to do just that for the chance that it would stop the death ride I was in and for a few minutes of rest.

"_Yug', if ya puke in here, I'll deck ya."_

Joey glared from the rearview mirror. I glared back.

"_And I'll make ya pay for the cleaning," _he added.

I was more threatened by the cleaning bill than the promise of physical harm. I strengthened my will, covering my mouth for good measure. I'd sooner choke on my bile than spend my money frivolously. I redirect my glare to the blurred colors on the window ('cause Joey was immune to stink eyes).

I bet trees didn't have supposed best friends who knew their weakness and wouldn't hesitate using it against them. Plus, trees were generally tall.

As I sat in the car, vision swimming and bile clogging my throat, I wished I were a tree instead.

We arrived at Domino City without incident. When the car stopped in front of Kame Games, I ran off to the first bush in sight. I was dry heaving when my long lost grandfather greeted me.

I finally knew where I got my epic hair from.

Before I could even speak, he enclosed me in a hug. His strength belied his age, and the tight grip made my stomach want to do a repeat performance.

"_Yubi, my child, you haven't aged a day!"_

And just my luck, the old man was delusional.

"He thought ya were yer mom!" Joey exclaims.

I regret bringing him here now.

He's my adoptive brother, and it's my first time away from home. It's sweet that he offered to stay here with me 'till I settle in, but he loves poking fun at me and reporting to Seto the minute details of my life, and it doesn't help that I spill everything to him either.

Maybe I should have risked getting lost. There might be pros in becoming a hermit: I'd be away from Mother Impulsive, Brother Nosy, Mr. Blackmailer, and Old Man Delusional, and pretend I was a tree...

Okay. Weird thoughts. There's something wrong with that medicine Grandpa gave me.

"The man's senile, I tell you."

I'm a boy. I do _not_ look like my mom—do I?

I stop and stare at my reflection on the window—okay, I have her eyes, bits of her blonde hair, and our faces are generally the same shape—and belatedly realize that it belongs to a dress shop. It might have looked like I was ogling over that gaudy pink dress. And judging by Joey's raised brow and amused smile, he thinks it is exactly what I'm doing.

"So... yer a girl now?"

I kick him on the shins for that comment. He buckles on his knees. It doesn't wipe his grin, though. He easily stands back up, brushing the dirt off his pants. He grins wider. "Wait 'till Seto hears about this. New blackmail material!"

"And you're supposed to be my friend?" I feel the betrayal that shouldn't have been there. Really, the medicine, what has it done?

"The best!"

I thought Asians were generally shorter than Americans.

I've always blamed my Asian blood for my disappointing height. But this guy, Ushio, is a behemoth! (Also, he has killed my dream of at least being average.) Two of my former bullies stacked up is nothing on him. Now I kinda wish Joey were here; he could sacrifice himself—_fight this guy_ while I run off to class. I'd bruised my wrists if I fought this hard mass, and I won't win without underhanded tricks. Joey, on the other hand, might survive—_win_ a clean fight.

"You have to pay for protection." Did he just say I had to pay for condoms?

"I don't want it. Won't spend money."

Seriously? Bullying people to buy condoms? Aren't condoms free? They were in my previous school, yet I didn't even take one; there's no way I'll_ pay_ for one now.

"You—pay—hurt—."

He's talking too fast for me to fully comprehend, but from the bits that I caught, I'm guessing he's _demanding_ that I pay. Not happening.

"Again. Won't spend money."

If I were better in Japanese I'd sass him. For now, I'll just settle with redundancy—I hear it can be quite vexing.

Damn, he's not backing off. He's threatening me with his fist now: I'm in for some pummeling. I know from experience not to expect help from the crowd, but I still wish that a brave soul or a teacher would come and interfere. Guess not. I'm gonna have to save myself then.

A kick to the nuts it is.

The guy falls on his knees, and I scram. I run without looking back, dearly hoping that giants aren't fast healers. Then, at least, I'll have time to prepare before the next attack; bullies are often the vengeful types after all. Hopefully, I'll get away with another dick-kick next time. But before anything like that happens, it's best to avoid the guy. (The hallways are littering with red lockers. Duly noted.)

I'll try to weasel my way out of detention later; I'm late for English.

Just when I thought the worst of the day is over, I see _her._

Mai Kujaku, my half-sister, who hates me.

Here.

Now.

Glaring from across the cafeteria.

Great, she recognizes me. Here I was hoping she wouldn't.

She excuses herself from her friends, pointing at the phone in her hand. She walks the distance between us and leans on the wall next to me, the phone against her ear.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She's pretending it's a call. Clever.

"I'm enrolled here," I say to my lunch. I pretend it's her.

"You're supposed to be in America," she accuses. She says it as if I was exiled there, and I had committed a crime by leaving. I didn't come here by choice, and I didn't expect—nor did I want—to meet her either, so she can shove her resentment up her ass (if there's still room, with the stick already there) because I'm equally vexed.

"Not anymore, obviously." I poke my food with the spoon. She's making me lose my appetite.

"The whore with you?"

My grip tightens.

I'd hit her if she weren't a girl.

I stab the food instead.

"No."

"We don't know each other."

"Of course."

"Don't freeload on my house," she says last, sneaking in a glare before walking off.

"Wouldn't dream of it." I glare at her retreating back.

Our conversations are concise, and she always manages to insert insults in between.

This one isn't any different.

I wonder if she even knows the words hello and goodbye. I've never heard her say them. Her words are either a demand or an insult—at times, a mixture of both. When she talks to me, she's never pleasant, so I don't like hearing her voice. The fact that it sounds a lot like Mom's, only with venom and hate instead of affection in her tone, makes me hate hearing her voice even more.

I don't think we'll ever have a decent conversation.

I don't look forward to seeing her again, though it's inevitable because _apparently_ we're schoolmates now. At least I won't have classes with her—she's in higher year—and the places we'll likely meet are only the hallways and the cafeteria.

I turn my attention back to my forgotten lunch.

The tater tots have turned to mashed potatoes. I stabbed it too much. Still, it's the only thing edible in my tray.

The food here is the same as my old school's: the meat surprise can't be trusted.

How did it turn purple? It kinda reminds me of Mom's cooking. Probably tastes as bad or worse. Not gonna test it, though. I know my mother won't poison me, but I can't be sure about the lunch lady. Better safe than sorry.

Definitely avoiding the cafeteria next time.

I spend the rest of the day memorizing the school interior, just in case. When I come home, I find Grandpa and Joey in the kitchen. Grandpa is cooking dinner, Joey is stuffing his face with what's left in the fridge, and I have to go buy groceries tomorrow.

I watch my brother help himself to another giant sandwich (it's as big as my head). I suspect that half of each condiment is in there; the glass jars are on the table, all half-empty. I wonder why Grandpa isn't reprimanding him.

"How was yer first day?" Joey asks.

"The worst one yet."

He moves to ruffle my hair. I swat his hand away 'cause it's smeared with mustard.

"I'm sure it'll get better," he assures.

I doubt his words.

It's been two weeks.

Ushio is still hunting me.

Mai is a bitter bitch.

Kanji is being difficult.

And someone stole my glasses.

I grumble, bumping to another person as I blindly search for Enemy No.4. (Enemy No.3 is the Japanese teacher who keeps glaring at me.)

It's only the second week, yet my enemies have doubled. At this rate, by the end of the month, I'll have either eight or sixteen enemies (depends if two is a factor or an exponent). It'll be arduous trying to avoid that many people.

"Ow." Another wall. Damn. Where the hell are my glasses?

Why am I so intent on finding them?

Glasses are expensive.

And I don't think I'll be able to cross the streets safely without them. My sides still hurt from bumping into tables; imagine how worse it would be if it were cars and getting run over. How am I supposed to get home?

Calling Joey to pick me up is a hazard in itself, not to mention a waste of gas (which is also expensive), so that option's for the desperate.

Have these stairs always been here—shit!

"Ugh..." I hear a voice under me. I must have fallen on someone. I try to lift myself up, but there's an arm restraining my waist.

That face looks familiar.

"Y-Yami?"

"Ah... yeah."

His eyes are a natural shade of red. I've often thought they were contacts—I can actually see? That means—_eek, too close!_

"S-sorry." I quickly untangle myself from him.

My face feels warm. I hope it's not red.

I fumble for an excuse. "Can't see without my glasses."

"Actually, I have it. The glasses I mean... Sorry."

Wait... "What?"

"I'll give it back to you."

The school bell rings.

"We'll be late for class. Let's go."

He grabs my hand and pulls me along with him. My legs work on auto.

My mind is still processing this... He stole my glasses, he apologized, and now he's returning it to me? Is this supposed to be bullying? I don't think it's working right.

We're in the classroom.

"I'm really sorry. Here," he says, handing me my glasses.

Not broken. No cracks. Doesn't smell like it's been dipped in urine or anything. He really didn't do anything to it (other than steal it of course.) He's still standing in front of me, waiting for my verdict, and I wonder...

"Why did you steal it?"

"Um... I was curious?"

I raise my brow at him because that was _not_ a justified explanation. (I'm curious if old people could get amnesia from falling down stairs, but you don't see me pushing Grandpa down a set.)

"I'm sorry. I didn't know they were prescription glasses," he adds, a hand on the back of his neck and looking bashful. His motive is dubious, but he's apology seems genuine enough, and I find it hard not to forgive. If I had narcissism, he'd be appealing to it right now—he vaguely looks like me if I were a head taller, and I've been stuck below five feet for sixteen years, so the extra ten inches are enviable.

"I forgive you. But if you do this again, I'm gonna kick you," I tell him.

He looks stunned for a moment, then he chuckles. He must think I was joking. How foolish of him.

"How did you know my name by the way?" he asks.

"We're classmates."

"You know all of your classmates' names already?"

"No, just yours."

"Really?"

"Not really. I'm joking." _There's also Miho, Anzu, Ami, and Honda. All your names are only two syllables so it's easy to remember._

The teacher enters the room. The students move to their respective desks, and I find Yami sitting next to mine.

"Today we'll be doing pair work exercises. Choose your partners, and turn to page 206 of your textbook," the teacher announces.

Three girls approach Yami's desk. "Do you have a partner yet, Sennen-kun?" the brunette, Anzu, asks. She has spoken for the other two with her. Miho is blushing, partially hiding behind Anzu and avoiding Yami's eyes. The third girl—don't know her name—is glaring furtively at Anzu.

Yami must be popular.

"I have one in mind."

He turns to me. "Partners?"

"Sure."

I can feel the third girl's glare.

The real Enemy No.4 has shown herself.


	3. Chapter 3

"_I heard ya made a friend."_

Joey waltzed into my room like he owned the place. He didn't even knock—not that he ever does.

"_Who told you?"_ I asked.

"_Who else?"_

The answer came in a second. I felt foolish for asking.

"_How did _Seto _know?"_

He plopped himself on the bed and opened the bag of chips he had with him. Great, crumbs on _my_ bed. I wondered if I was destined to be siblings with impolite people.

"_He goes to yer school."_

What a small world.

"_And yer friend is his cousin."_

The world got even smaller.

"_Should I remain friends with this guy? I like Seto, but I'm not sure I can tolerate two of him."_

"_Nah, don't worry. Ya've met Mokie, they're brothers but they're nothin' alike, so his cousin should be fine. Pretty sure Seto's the only prick in the family." _How he stayed coherent with a mouthful of food was still impressive. It might have been his greatest talent.

"_I'll go tell Seto you said that."_

"Good morning, Yugi."

It's Yami again.

"Good morning," I reply, walking over to our lockers.

I've been hanging out with him a lot lately. Who would have thought that stealing my glasses was an act to instigate friendship? I guess that was him being creative? More like awkward really, but effective nonetheless. Still, this friendship incurred me another enemy, so I'm debating if it's worth it.

Vivian Wong—Enemy No.4_—_is a Yami fanatic, and she leaves weird things in my locker. It's always inside a box, a paper taped at the top cover saying: _Get away from him! _(or any variation of the phrase), and it smells. The awful stench is coming from my locker again; I don't need to open it to know that Vivian left me another gift.

I know the culprit is Vivian because she wore a satisfied smirk the first day I got a box of rotten eggs. Also, the handwriting on the paper is feminine, and her initials are written. I'm guessing her looks makes up for her brain.

I think it's a dead animal this time.

Or poop.

Probably got one of her fanboys to do the dirty work for her.

She's pretty attractive, so she's bound to have a few. She wears her skirts too short and opens a button too many on her top; I spot some of our classmates drooling over her long legs when she walks between Yami's and my desks. (Is she flaunting her height? It's the only thing I envy.)

And she sneaks a glare every chance she gets.

She acts as if I'm pursuing a romantic relationship with Yami. Is she seriously threatened by me? I'm a_ boy, _damn it! I'm not nifty enough to make someone turn to the other side!

"What's that smell?" Yami's voice brings me back from my thoughts.

"My locker. Someone mistook it as their garbage dump," I answer.

Yami doesn't know about Vivian. I didn't want him to feel guilty, though he did inadvertently cause this. Maybe I'll make him buy me a sandwich to compensate.

"Again? You should really report this." There's concern in his voice.

"It's fine. I'm not using the locker anyways. Let them waste their effort."

I open the locker, and, as expected, the perpetual box is present.

Today's greeting: _Fuck off Bitch!_

How crude.

Whatever. Not gonna open it. I just keep the attached papers for when I lose my patience and decide to tell on her (and use it as blackmail if possible). Usually, I would take the box and throw it to the trash myself, but I really can't be bothered anymore; let the janitor find the mess to clean. I've stopped using the locker, and I have a backpack for my books. Though my back aches a bit from the added weight, all I can do is mentally curse at Vivian because I don't hit girls.

I only stop by the lockers to meet Yami before class because his locker is next to mine and we only have the same schedule from third period onwards. It's nice to see a friendly face before I brace myself for the enemies loitering the school, enemies which are steadily multiplying now that I have Vivian's fanboys—and other Yami fangirls, maybe?—to account for.

I feel a headache coming on. Rubbing my forehead doesn't really help.

"You okay?"

"Fine. Just want to pull someone's hair out." _Specifically Vivian's._

"As long as it's not mine. I don't think I can pull off bald. Plus, my stock of hair gels will turn useless," he jokes.

"You could give them to me."

"No, I'm sure you have a stock of your own."

He grins at me, and I feel a smile of my own. I laugh, the noise echoing when he joins in. I suddenly feel lighter. His attempt to make it better is greatly appreciated.

"You can share my locker if you want," he suggests. He opens his locker, and it's only half-filled. "Lighten half of the load."

My smile widens.

"Thanks."

You know what? It is worth it.

I like having this guy around.

Screw you, Vivian.

The Japanese teacher keeps glaring at me.

It's unfair that I'm the only one getting this treatment when there are five of us keeping her in this room. In my opinion, she should glare at the kid behind me: He's clearly not even trying to learn, what with his pen poking at my back instead of on paper, and the incessant hitting on the same spot means he's not writing kanji on my shirt.

Never have I thought I'd find getting noticed by girls so bothersome. Now I have three attractive women who have their eyes on me; it's hard to fall in love with any of them when they all glare at me and one of them is my sister. I miss the blatant disregard the females gave me in my old school.

I have special classes for Japanese. I stay an extra hour after the regular class so the teacher can help me catch up with the other students. The special classes are compulsory for the foreign students and optional for the returnees. Vivian is in the same class because she's Chinese. I'm here because I'm way behind on my Kanji.

I can't help but be horrible at it. I've lived in America my whole life, Japanese hadn't been taught in school, and Mom wasn't much of a teacher. The kanji I learned are only the ones on my Japanese trading cards.

Writing the strokes in the right order is essential.

Memorizing the number of strokes and the order it's written in is annoying.

Ms. Chono and I aren't compatible. Her teaching style is a drab, the subject is just as boring, and the atmosphere isn't great for learning: the glaring teacher, the glaring classmate, and the kid poking my back with his pen. This place is short of paperball comets and note-passing.

My trading cards are better at teaching me Kanji.

Ms. Chono can glare all she wants. It won't help me improve.

She'll sooner give herself wrinkles if she keeps at it. Considering how she values her beauty (judging from the thick makeup), she might be a bit thankful if I tell her to stop it. Before she whacks me with her new ruler, that is. The ruler is a gift from the English teacher who's pining for her. Poor Mr. Andou is blinded by her face and doesn't know what he's in for.

The bell rings. I pack my things within seconds, and my feet carries me to the door with haste. I'm the first one out the room.

When I see Yami waiting by the lockers again, it's not even a surprise.

We walk together, our chatting idle. Other voices are blending in the background, but I can still hear him perfectly. Not for the first time do I note his baritone voice. I wish mine were as deep. The sound is pleasant to the ears.

He buys two sandwiches and a bottle of water for lunch, then we head out of the cafeteria. I pack my lunch every day and accompany Yami to the cafeteria so he can buy his before heading to an empty classroom to eat.

I notice Anzu and Miho waving to Yami more than I do Mai when she passes by. Yami stares at me, then at Mai, and back again like he knows something others don't. It makes me suspicious.

"Isn't Kujaku your sister? I've never seen you interact before," he asks when the girls are gone.

"How did you know that?"

"Seto."

"That blabbermouth. Should've known. It's always the quiet one that spills your secrets."

"It's a secret? I'm sure that the faculty knows, though. Haven't you notice Ms. Chono's glares." So Ms. Chono is glaring at me because of Mai? Really?

"No, it's not a secret. I'm just trying to be discreet. Mai doesn't want people to know we're related. She doesn't really like me, so she keeps her distance."_ And that distance had been eight thousand kilometers before recent._

I suppose it won't hurt me if Yami knows. He seems trustworthy enough. The only person who could be harmed if this information leaks is Mai since she's the one with a reputation to protect.

"Why so?"

"She's too proud to hang-out with her bastard brother."

"Oh."

"It's okay. I don't like that stuck-up legit daughter either."

I find myself sighing, though I'm not sure why.

Joey is a worshiper of fast food.

So when he found out that there was a Burger World branch in Domino he was ecstatic. (He thinks McDonald's is overrated.) _"It's in Japan, but they have American portion sizes!"_ he raved. He had been complaining about how small the burgers were in the other restaurants during the first week.

Now I'm sitting here in Burger World with Seto. We're waiting for Joey to come back with the food. He sure is taking his time.

"So you added Yami to the Yugi forum. Don't you have better things to do than gossip about me?"

"My cousin has a crush on you. I'm just humoring him."

"Three years I've known you, Seto. Now you suddenly have a sense of humor!" I laugh, but it dies off when I see Seto's face: not even a smirk. The sight drowns the mirth in me as well.

Is he serious?

"You are joking, right?"

He just stares, and it's enough for an answer.

He's waiting for me to combust. Three, two, one—

"I'm a guy!"

"Could've fooled me, Yugi."

"I have a dick."

"That thing you carry around in your jeans? I believe it's pronounced:_ deck._"

Ooh, insulting my manhood, are we? Two can play at that game.

"Kaiba Tower's a pretty tall one. Compensating for something, _Kaiba_?"

"I challenge you to a duel, _Mutou._"

"You're on!"

"Hey! It better not be a sword fight!" Joey interjects. He's back from the counter, a mountain of burgers and fries on his tray. I swear it's gonna topple over me if he comes any closer.

Wait... Me. Seto. Swords?

"Joey!" I hiss at him when the implication dawns on me.

Seto glares at the new arrival. Joey is unfazed. He shoves a handful of fries in his mouth and turns to Seto. "What? I don't wanna see ya bumpin' uglies. Ya'll contaminate Yug' here." Don't talk with your mouth full—he has always disregarded this rule.

"I'm not gay, Wheeler." Seto's glare is looking permanent.

"If yer _insinuatin'_ that he's gay, then why can't ya be gay too? It takes one to know one, y'know." Joey points a fry at Seto before munching on it.

"Big word. Pity you didn't choke on it."

"It's bigger than your tower," I retort.

Seto abruptly stands from his chair, leaning over the table to overshadow me—"Are you trying to intimidate me with your _other_ height—Ow!"—and flicks my forehead. Hard.

"You have _neither,_" he says, tone grave and face too close for comfort. If it weren't for the glint in his eyes, indicating his amusement, I'd think he was gonna stab me. I quell my fight-or-flight impulse 'cause he's my friend (and his hand is on the back of my chair—damn his long limbs—restraining it to the ground and me to it, and if I punch him, I'll get two and a kick in return.) Even though I know he's just playing, this invasion of personal space still grates on my nerves, and he knows this.

He smirks before backing off.

"Why don't ya two just use measurin' sticks and get this over with. The bathroom's over there." We both glare at Joey this time. He's too busy gobbling his food to care.

"Is this a bad time?"

I turn to the direction where the familiar voice came from.

"Yami?"

"Hey," he greets with a wave.

"What are you doing here?"

"Coincidence... ?"

That was definitely a question.

His eyes turn to Seto before adding: "Seto invited me."

Seto's smirk is looking conceited.


	4. Chapter 4

Yesterday my cousin and I had the most _interesting_ conversation.

One I kind of wish did not happen.

Because it got me thinking about my _not-_crush on a certain someone even more (as if my thoughts didn't wander to said person often enough), threatening my blissful veil of denial, which already sported tatters and holes, and, now that I'm three-fourths over the fact that he's male, a rip _tearing_.

"_Are you going to confess to Yugi soon?"_

The question was sprang out of thin air and had me half spluttering, half choking. The Sprite I had been drinking went up instead of down and into the wrong pipe, leaving a burning sensation on the back of my throat and inside my nostrils. The carbonated liquid spurted from my nose. Gross.

Did Seto wait for the exact moment when I'm chugging my Sprite to ask _that _question?

His timing was just too _glorious._

My cousin had been droning on about the weather or something minutes ago—conversational cues from Aunt, no doubt—then suddenly _that_ came up. I was usually the one who started the Yugi topic here. This was a calculated move, I was sure.

Seto must want to make a soda fountain out of me.

"_W-what?!"_ I managed to spat between my coughing. It took me a minute to clear my throat.

"_You owe me a Sprite,"_ I said, wiping my nose with the back of my hand and vaguely wondering if some snot had mixed with the liquid—again, gross. _"And what the hell are you talking about?"_

He raised a brow, disappointed at my response. His deadpan face was practically asking: _Really, Yami?_

He knew that I knew what it was, and pretending to not know wouldn't work with him, but the extent of what he knew was what I wanted to know, and that scheming smirk meant that he must know _a lot, _the omniscient being he was, but, damn, _what_ did he know?!

...Did my vocabulary just shrink?

"_You're a closet narcissist. Yugi's the perfect match for you," _he continued when I didn't respond, like a tolerant teacher who was stating a fact his student was too stupid to notice.

"_Narcissist? Seems like you're speaking from experience. Did the cloning experiment finally work? Am I meeting Set-2 anytime soon?_" I feigned excitement, peering behind Seto to see if his clone would appear.

Seto's eye twitched, a sign of his slight annoyance and my small victory.

"_By the way, you should name her/him that: _Set-2_. It'll stick," _I added. This time, I was the one smirking.

"_You're a closet narcissist. __Set-2's the perfect match for you." _When I tossed his words back at him, it was all the more satisfying.

"_So you won't be confessing to Yugi?"_

And we were back on topic. He just wasted my skillfully executed subject change right there.

"_We're just _friends_."_ I emphasized the word so it would be imprinted in that thick head of his, not that it made it convincing. _"Where are you getting this ideas from?"_

_Did Aunt force you to watch teen dramas with her to cope with her midlife crisis, again?_

I would have followed with that if Seto didn't know about Mom's monthly chick flick Sundays (mandatory bonding time). The Mama's boys we lot were; at this point, Mokuba would become the manliest kin.

"_With the way your eyes and legs trail after him, if Yugi wasn't so incredibly dense at times, you'd be labeled a creep by now," _Seto stated in that condescending tone of his.

How did he even know that? Did he install cameras in school—wait, the school probably had them beforehand. Then, maybe he hacked them, or maybe he had a spy, which could be why I never saw any friends of his in school because they're actually _ninjas. _Bets on the Kuro kid who rarely showed up in class.

How else would he have known? I made sure to be subtle when I asked about Yugi, displaying nothing but curiosity and only asking every other day. I was quite proud of my acting skills.

It shouldn't have been _that _obvious.

"_It's so obvious."_

I swore I'd find the secret to his omniscience soon and use it against him. I'll be a blackmailing prodigy right after that.

"_Is it as _glaring _as your unrequited love for Blue Eyes?"_ I retorted, referring to Seto's fanatic interest on the Blue Eyes White Dragon cards that stemmed from when we were six and festered as we grew older.

There were only four of the cards in existence, and three were in Seto's hands while the fourth continued to elude his grasp. Seto had been thirteen when he gave up the search and had a Blue Eyes themed room built in their mansion to settle his frustration. He even dyed his hair green back then as a symbol of how he was_ green with envy_ for the person who held the last card and wished the card would just _perish if it wasn't ending up in his hands._

Aunt had absolutely shrieked, and since then Seto received special attention from her and steered away much of her meddling from Mokuba.

Mokuba and I agreed that it was the best birthday party _ever._

Now, at seventeen, Seto had a Blue Eyes White Dragon _jet. _How obsessively awesome.

I saw his brown hair, and the nostalgia broke. His eye was twitching again; he knew where my thoughts had drifted. Must be the effective guessing we've developed over the years.

"_I bet you'll fall for Yugi."_

The way he changed subjects lacked finesse. He should really learn from me.

"_I'm not playing this game."_

Betting games were above my level of maturity, I just decided.

"_Afraid you'll lose?"_ Seto challenged.

I wasn't 'afraid,' just too _mature_ for this. It seemed, apart from height, Seto hadn't grown yet, and here I was, with the not-as-tall (shorter: _forbidden_ _word_) height but with a higher level of maturity.

Ah... life's trade-offs.

And was it just me, or did Seto's lines sounded like it came straight out of a chick flick? Like one where the protagonist made a bet with the antagonist to date the school geek, later on, falling for said geek and dumped by said geek because said geek found out about the bet from the antagonist. It could as easily come from a teen drama when I thought about it.

I saw no pros in this plotline.

Then again I fell asleep towards the ending when I watched that with Mom—Ugh. Mokuba watched _action_ and _horror_ movies... Officially the manliest.

"_I don't need to play when I already know I'll win. It's boring."_

"_On the contrary, I think you don't _want_ to play because you know you'll_ lose._"_

I leveled Seto with a glare. He returned it with a nonchalant stare.

My chick flick knowledge said I should refuse, so did my logic, but pride was shouting:_ Challenge accepted! _And he was quite the boisterous fellow indeed.

"_Fine. What am I supposed to bet with?" _I conceded.

"_Obelisk,"_ he answered, the quick response a note for suspicion.

I remembered getting that God card when I was twelve. It was from a booster pack that Seto gave me and regretted giving after. He dueled me for the card and lost each duel during that week: Obelisk kept showing up and the two Blue Eyes Seto had back then were no match.

I'd grown out of the game two years ago, Obelisk was somewhere between my math book's pages, and I wouldn't mind losing the card to Seto. But just in case I did win...

"_Bet two Blue Eyes, and you got yourself a deal."_

"_Deal."_ Didn't even skip a beat; he must be confident.

A faint yet audible voice said that losing this one was inevitable and that I should look for Obelisk when I get home, or else I'd be pressed for time when Seto asks for it later.

And that _later_ might be sooner than I expected.

But I was oh so intent on denial.

A confession, after school and on the rooftop.

How cliché.

Except it's not spring.

It's the middle of November instead, the winds in such a height are stronger, lashing against bare skin. I can think of places I'd rather be: closer to the ground, indoors, or both. I'm not fond of winter, and being up here, where it's significantly _colder _than downstairs, just adds up to that sentiment.

The dreaded season came early this year. The snowing has been sporadic at most, and it isn't snowing now, but the air is colder than when it does. I feel the goose bumps already forming on my skin, and I wish I'd brought a thicker jacket (like the leather one I shouldn't have left in the laundry). My bottom lip is chapped when I bite it, my teeth peeling dead skin, and the dry air itches my throat when I inhale.

Three days' worth of snow is piled up on my yard, waiting to be shoveled, and the shovel is somewhere in the shed, waiting to be found. My mother will be in the house, nagging because I'll let the snow pile another day. Dad's away for business, Mom's the authority, and I'm the only son—thus the chore slave—but I don't feel up to manual labor when it's _freezing_.

A gust of wind blows harshly, the cold biting my cheek, and my irritation grows.

Why am I out here again?

"Sennen-kun," a voice interrupts my thoughts.

Oh yeah, cliché confession ongoing.

I'd almost forgotten she was there.

Complaining about the weather while a damsel is demanding my attention—it speaks tenfold.

My thoughts impulsively strays to Yugi. I wonder if he already went home. He and a classmate were assigned to clean the room, and I was going to meet him by the lockers after. We would walk home together, but not today, it seems. Mazaki called me out under the pretense of schoolwork, and I'm a bit annoyed that I missed Yugi because of her.

Mazaki and I are research partners in Biology, and a project is due next week. But the absence of reference books and the fact that she asked to meet in the rooftop—I was hoping it would be for the internet reception, but she didn't bring her laptop either, so no—mean there won't be any progress on said project today.

And it's been put off a week already. Sigh.

I keep my annoyance to myself, though; I've been raised better and girls should be respected. But still, I am annoyed.

Mazaki is fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. She's dressed up in pastels and cotton, lovely to the eyes but flimsy against the freeze, and I think her efforts are wasted on me.

"Actually, there's something I've been meaning to ask." She looks so nervous, lips quivering, yet her words don't come out as a tremble.

She's known to be quite the social butterfly, considering that she's Kujaku's friend, but this girl standing in front of me is out of character.

She acts shy around me. I've long noticed her crush, but quite some time have passed, so I've not thought she would choose to confess _now_—especially at a time when I've gained a (not so) vague idea of what genuine attraction is like, making me feel sympathetic towards her. It almost seems strategic on her part.

The wind tussles her hair, but the brunette strands swiftly return to their place, framing her face nicely. Her blue eyes are often bright, though they are hidden by her bangs at the moment. She is pretty. Not as pretty as—still, _pretty._ And she's nice, from what I've heard and noticed myself.

She would be a perfect girlfriend. A lot of guys would want to be in my shoes right now, falling at the sight of this girl, saying yes even before a confession.

But there's a lingering voice that says I can't fall for her.

Because I'm falling for someone else.

And as I look at her blushing cheeks, I see Yugi's instead.

I could tell the truth, or I could lie through my teeth, either way my answer is no.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asks, her gaze on her shoes instead of making eye-contact. She has a habit of phrasing thoughts into questions instead of getting straight to the point.

Her hand is rubbing against her arms; it's either the nerves or the cold. I'd lend her my jacket if it wouldn't possibly mislead her. (The last time I lent my jacket to a girl, it was never returned, and a rumor of me dating said girl broke out the next day.) It's better to just end this quickly, so we can go back inside, where it's warmer.

(And maybe I could still catch up to Yugi if I'm lucky.)

"No." At the answer she raises her head, azure eyes looking hopeful, and I feel a pang of guilt. Maybe I should have lied.

"I don't want one," I state bluntly. Her eyes dim in a second, face crestfallen, and it makes me think I should have soften the blow.

I can only imagine how terribly nerve-wrecking this must be for her, but I wonder if she has any idea how awkward this is for me. How it always is. It's difficult to comfort a crying girl if you're the cause of her tears. And I'm out of practice. I haven't received any confession in a while since I avoid them like the plague.

I think it should be the guy who courts the girl, not the other way around. I've rejected all of the confessions before, and news travel fast in this school. I have an inkling that someone has been keeping a list of the rejected.

The others know that making advances on me is pointless, so I'm not sure what prompted her to do this when many are dissuaded. Should I applaud this girl for her determination?

Her posture straightens, and she looks me in the eyes, her own ablaze. The confidence that has always accompanied her stance is back. Mazaki's not easy to give up, and she's just making things harder for me. "Sennen-kun... I—"

My phone interrupts her, Jaws Theme Song playing—I got a text from Seto. I regard it as a welcomed intervention despite its dooming tune.

I take the phone from my pocket. Seto's name appears on the screen, and I'm struck with an idea for escape.

I've already given my answer. Even if she can't accept it, I'm not obligated to please her.

"Sorry. It's my cousin. I have to go."

"Jaws... for Kaiba-san?" She sounds apprehensive.

I set the ringtone this morning; I had a feeling that I pissed Seto yesterday, and I wanted a warning before his payback. He's more vindictive than Ushio, and picks at the slightest of things, I swear. But I'm not telling her that.

"Yeah. It means it's urgent," I comment, opening the text.

_Your crush has a date. Burger World._

My mind instantly relays that it's a bait and that I'll lose Seto's game if I bite.

But my legs don't have ears to listen, and I'm heading to the stairs. I turn to Mazaki, halfway out the door. "Bye," I bid curtly, not waiting for a reply.

"But—" her voice is cut off when I turn the corner.

It comes to mind how rude that had been of me, but it's an afterthought I'm not going to dwell on; Burger World is a while away, and I've miles to run. I would hail a taxi, but my wallet is in my leather jacket, which is at home. I really shouldn't have left it in the laundry.

I see Seto leaning over Yugi, and I feel a spark of jealousy ignite.

It's hard to deny my feelings when I hear my insides shouting _mine, mine, mine!_ I'm being unreasonably territorial, and to someone who _isn't_ actually mine.

But feelings aren't rational.

And I'm _feeling_ _so much_ that I almost ignore the part of my brain commanding me to be _rational._

The fact about Seto: He isn't gay.

If anything, he's asexual._ Not gay._ And for the _slightest_ chance that he _were,_ he _wouldn't_ fall for someone who looked strikingly like his cousin. That would be kind of incest, a total turnoff.

He'd sooner bang his Blue Eyes White Dragon themed desk—God knows his attraction to that rare card is an obsession.

And If Seto had been hiding a secret desire for me, I'd be the first to notice. We've known each other for years, and I'm good at reading people. For instance: that sheen on Yugi's eyes as they look into Seto's is not attraction, but _fear._

_...What exactly is happening here?_

Seto wears a condescending smirk as he retracts to his chair, like he won a battle. He gives a quick glance my way and got even smugger. I'm a second late on hiding. He knows I'm here.

Now that Seto is back on his seat, I have a clear view of a third occupant: a blond sitting in front of my cousin and wolfing on the food. The speed and amount at which he eats is astounding. He says something I don't hear, the other two simultaneously glare at him, and my thoughts wanders between blackmail dates and a triad.

"Is this a bad time?"

Yugi's head turns to my direction, so quick it's a snap. His eyes widen behind his glasses, the violets almost peeking over. Pretty as always. "Yami?"

"Hey." I wave a hand.

"What are you doing here?" Yugi asks.

I fight for the awkwardness not to show. God, I didn't think this through.

"Coincidence... ?" My eyes lock with Seto's, and I'm reminded of the text that brought me here in the first place. With a searing realization, I've willingly fallen into his trap.

Goodbye Obelisk.

At least, I've found my excuse: "Seto invited me." _Not really, but he might as well have._

I spot my cousin's split second smirk before it fades to apathy. He must find this amusing.

"You did?" Yugi turns to Seto, questioning.

I pray to God that Seto won't tell on me.

"Of course, I did," Seto says with his routine indifference, the glint in his eyes contradicting his tone. Was that sarcasm? With Seto, it's hard to tell—unless you've grown up with the guy, which I have, then, _yes,_ that was sarcasm. But Yugi doesn't need to know that. Can't have him thinking I'm his stalker now, can we?

"Ya must be Yami. Have a seat!" The blond greets in English. American.

He shakes my hand and pulls me to the chair next to his, catching me by surprise. Yugi is across the table, smiling sheepishly. There's a red mark on his forehead, a match with the tinge on his cheeks except darker.

Did he hit his forehead recently?

"How do you know my name?" I enquire the stranger.

"Yugi forum." I think he said something esoteric.

"It's an inside joke," Seto states before I could ask. Effective guessing is on its works again.

"By the way, you are?"

"I'm Joey Wheeler," he announces with a voice full of enthusiasm and a mouth stuffed with food. It's a wonder how he's coherent when he adds: "Yugi's brother."

Does no one share the same name in Yugi's family? Is this guy a half-sibling too? I face Yugi, honestly curious. "_Another_ one. How many siblings do you have?"

Yugi sneaks a glance at Joey. The blond is stacking two burgers on top of each other and trying to fit it into his mouth. The lady at the next table is cringing at his version of decorum, and her company—I'm guessing her boyfriend—is taking a picture. "Right now? None."

"He's adopted. Yugi will not turn out like him," Seto assures. Joey throws a balled up wrapper at his face. Seto kicks him under the table. Joey kicks back, and the table is overturned. The fries flew, and some landed on Yugi's hair, now blending with his blond fringe, while a soda spilled on my shirt.

I have tough luck with sodas these days. It's a good thing I'm wearing black; the wet stain is not noticeable.

My cousin and Yugi's brother are bickering, the table is still on its side, and Yugi's picking fries from his hair and not paying them mind. The boyfriend is now recording a video, and we've gained the rest of the diners as audience.

Yugi scoots his chair away. He leans against our table, a hand shielding the side of his face and big eyes looking up—adorable—and whispers, "I don't know these people."

I follow his lead.

"Neither do I."


End file.
